


A Matter of Perspective

by EhidnaMAD



Category: Dream SMP - Fandom, Minecraft (Video Game), Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, Character Study, Chat is a character too, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Piglin Hybrid Technoblade (Video Blogging RPF), Shapeshifter Technoblade (Video Blogging RPF), Should I tag AU if there are more people in the world?, Tags May Change, Technoblade Hears Voices (Video Blogging RPF), Technoblade-centric (Video Blogging RPF)
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-15
Updated: 2021-03-03
Packaged: 2021-03-17 02:34:30
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 17,247
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29464341
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EhidnaMAD/pseuds/EhidnaMAD
Summary: A character study and an attempt to combine all of the lore and fanbase - from Techno being both human and a pig simultaneously, to Philza canonically killing a dragon despite Dream SMP having no access to the End, to Wil and Techno being twins while not being twins. A collection of overarching one-shots, examining the Pig of Hypixel and the former Emperor of the World, and how he got to be the anarchist pig we all love.This lore is a rabbit hole and a half, not gonna lie. All of DSMP is.--There is always so much for someone who never dies. For he is the Cold that death brings, and the Emperor, and the Pig. He is the one who ruled the world, who let it burn, who left it behind. He might get knocked down but he will always come back, for he is the only one who can withstand the monumental pressure of being Technoblade and all that comes from the crown he bears.Because Technoblade never dies.And these are the stories of him when he opened his doors to the man who promised him blood and war.
Comments: 19
Kudos: 61





	1. Mask

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Zennfir](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Zennfir/gifts).

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Set in the short and struggling days of Pogtopia

Those were three long days. 

Technoblade snorted, clearing his snout from the dust, and stretched, groaning, as his spine popped back in place. He licked one of his tusks absentmindedly, jewel-covered ears picking sounds from outside the hand-made cave where he set up the farm. The smell of potatoes and tilted earth brought up memories of his previous home. A land he claimed when the constant bickering of factions became too mundane to tolerate. A land turned into a warzone of its own, considering his competition with other farmers. That was an interesting turn of the events, to say the least, to have sleepless nights over alchemy solutions and calculations rivaled by battle plans to get an increase in potato productions, going so far as to memorize his competitors' schedules and tactics to sabotage and one-up them. A bloodless war, unmatched in its brutality. 

Ironic.

That couldn't be helped, really. Techno wouldn't be himself if he didn't go all out to seize his opportunity. 

It was doubly funny, now, how in both cases that same earth for that same semi-automated farm (albeit considerably smaller) had to be dug up on the surface, stuffed in bags then manually brought down here first - all by his hands and back, which was never pleasant. But he was a giant humanoid boar, and he was sturdy, and he was stubborn. Yet more than anything, the displeasure of manual labor allowed him to be alone. 

That, too, brought memories. Which was a good thing in itself. Being inside a memory allowed him to mute the voices, to detach and get lost in the flow of the tasks, letting calmness fill his overworking mind. Memories brought him into simpler times, times when all he had to account for was himself. 

Something -  _ someone _ , Techno corrected himself mentally, as he heard a loud thud followed by even louder cursing - fell off the hastily made ledges, shattering the illusion. 

Again. 

[ _ Cursing meant cognitive function. The damage wasn't lethal. The scream wasn't loud enough to signify shattered bones. Not enough commotion to warrant interest. Dismissed. _ ]

Techno sighed tiredly, rubbing his scarred, torn almost to the bone face and making mental a note to do the railings - if not for others' safety, then for his own sanity. The great ravine of Pogtopia was enormous, enough to fit several villages, to feature enormous waterfalls that were tamed by now. Yet it still somehow managed to be packed to bursting with people - fugitives, refugees, and sellouts with a healthy dose of political exiles on top. Those who didn't or couldn't stay in... whatever countries were present in this part of the world.

The hybrid couldn't help but wonder where did he fit into this ragtag bunch. 

He probably didn't. 

From the moment Techno came to the somewhat-hidden gates of Pogtopia, carrying a saddle from his horse that didn't survive the journey, he knew he wasn't welcome despite Wilbur promising otherwise. The fact that he almost killed the guards when they refused to let him in didn't help either. Probably. Social interactions were never his forte. Luckily, for the most part of his life, he could simply brute-force through them.

You don't have to come up with small talk if you're the only one alive, right?

The awkward silence was a valid option, too. Honestly, it worked even better, since no one wanted to stick around a detached war beast of a boar who wasn't towering over others solely because of his hunched spine. Sharpened hooves, tusks that could rival knives, black eyes with white irises looking through everyone - those were enough for others to fall quiet when he passed through the ravine. 

So they kept screeching their minds off when they couldn't see him and thought he wasn't around. 

As if proving his thoughts, there were more shouting and heavy slipping footsteps, thundering outside, and the piglin sneered, feeling his neck hair bristle and his tail whipping on his legs. 

[ _ Iron echo in the steps. Iron boots. No glassy aftersound. Not enchanted. The threat is minimal. Dismissed _ .]

Shouting meant living things. Living things with blood in their veins. The blood he didn't get to spill. 

What a waste.

Potatoes, he reminded himself forcefully, dragging his mind back to tiled earth and the sharp scent of vegetables. There would be time for blood, a bit later. 

_ Technolate!  _

_ Blood for the blood god! _

_ EEEEEEEEEEEEEE! _

Those were three long days, indeed. 

The choir in his mind was becoming steadily more vocal, echos and garbled vowels now forming coherent - okay,  _ relatively _ coherent - words, that stormed past him like a boat on an ice-rail filled to the brim with dogs and explosives. 

He had to address that sooner rather than later. 

"Thank you for the twenty," Techno mumbled with enthusiastic monotone, honed by years of practice, as he reached for the hoe. There were still a few rows not tilled enough to his liking, so he needed to finish the work before he could get out and drench himself in the blood of whatever unfortunate mob that happened to spawn in his way. "Thank you for the fifty. Thank you for the twenty. Subscribe to Technoblade."

It never failed to amuse his acquaintances, how he could monotone in every emotion possible - which wasn't true, but hey, they didn't know what he knew. And the less they knew him, the better off both sides of the equation were. Usually, there was no reason to waste energy on emotions, nor anyone worthy enough to spend them on for hundreds of miles around. 

Besides, even if anyone caught him muttering, they definitely wouldn't understand the importance of the ritual, dismissing his quiet words as merely mumbling thoughts out loud. Which was exactly what Techno was aiming for - after all, interacting with people got progressively more complicated the crazier they thought the piglin was. He didn't need to give them even more reasons to backstab him, okay?

Furthermore, the voices cared for the words and his voice speaking them, not the tone or the emotion, and even then they were much, much better at picking up the subtle changes in his seemingly-unchanging monotone than most humans Technoblade was forced to interact with. 

"This is a sad grinding episode, you feel an overwhelming sadness that can only be cured by subscribing," the hybrid continued, as amused by the words as he wasn't showing it. He wasn't sure what those words even  _ meant _ . But they  _ helped _ , they were a practical solution to the choir that drove him up the wall, sometimes literally, and that was all he cared about, as he continued to sing-song in monotone. A formidable feat, in his humble opinion. "Subscribe. Thank you for the twenty-y. Thank you for the fifty-y."

There was a delicate balance of not staying on the "e" sound at the end of the words for too long or--

" _ EEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE! _ " the cacophonic choir lept on it like a starving dog on the bone, and the hybrid cringed. 

\--or that happened, more often than not. Oh well. At least any mind control targeted at him would probably inevitably fail, inescapably drowned in the storming sea of voices that were pleased if he addressed them as Chat. He didn't care enough to question it. All he knew was how to deal with the entity, the sharp sea of shards inside his skull that formed in whatever gaps that weren't filled by his mind.

And that was what mattered, in the end. 

As he moved through the rows of planted potatoes, he moved his newly crafted tools alongside himself, sighing contently as he eyed the enchanted glistering blades. It took him so long to--

"I'm here bitches!" the yelp rang through his sensitive ears, making him jerk and stop muttering to Chat, blinking heavily as he came back into reality. There was only one creature in Pogtopia with lungs fit enough to fill the whole ravine with his shouting, and drown all other sounds in them. 

Which meant that Tommy came back from... what one could generously call 'a scouting mission'. Techno flapped his ear, enjoying the feeling of delicate jewelry against the skin. The status symbols he bore proudly, despite most not understanding what those were and what they meant. Apart from the crown, perhaps. 

[ _ Iron armor. Clatter. Not fit to the frame. Glassy aftersound. Some enchantments. Not on boots, but where the pieces could clatter against each other. Chestplate? Yells sounded normal. No injuries. Dismissed. _ ]

The hybrid reached to his tools only to pause and let out an exasperated sigh and pinch the bony, scraped bridge of his snout. Of course, with his luck, as he jerked from the sound, he shoved his tools and his pickaxe fell into the crack in the cave wall he was meant to wall off later. 

"And this, Chat, is why you don't leave one-block holes leading further in caves," the piglin mumbled, suppressing the urge to break something that stirred in his limbs. There were only his tools and the farm he painstakingly set up here. Breaking any of that out of frustration would be a waste of his efforts. Though, it was tempting, especially as the pickaxe was just... sparkling there, in the crevice, teasing him with hours of work he spent on honing it to fit his clawed, two-toed hands and enchanting it to fit his standards. 

Losing that would be mildly inconvenient, to say the least. 

_ Technoclumsy! _

_ Tecnhopick, nooooooo! _

_ What kind of lame name is that? _

_ It will be remembered. _

_ L. _

_ Wasn't it F? _

_ Clumsy, inept! _

_ Embarrassment pog! _

"We don't talk about it, Chat," Techno insisted, exasperated, as he carefully moved the rest of his tools away so they won't end up in the same hole. The voices in his head raged and laughed, pointing figurative fingers at him. The cacophony was drowning everything else, even Tommy's over-the-top volume. Impressive - in the worst way possible. 

The hybrid lowered himself, studying the crevice for a few moments, then turned to his hands, flexing all four fingers in thought. Humming a simple tune, he tried to fit his hand through the crack only to hiss in irritation. His hands, calloused and muscular, were way too big to fit. He  _ could  _ try to scrape at crevice's edges to make them fit, scraping short fur and thick skin underneath, but that wouldn't help. Much. He still won't get them out once he grabbed the pickaxe's handle. 

He could try to get out, get some other pickaxe and come back. Probably. But there were people outside, and he had to interact with them, and voices were so, so  _ loud _ . He could kill someone and wouldn't even realize it. Pff, who was he kidding? The moment he walks out in his mental state, he  _ will  _ kill someone and relish in it, indulging in the feeling of warmth of spilled life on his fur, hell, maybe even on his  _ tusks _ . 

He didn't sharpen them for nothing, right?

That would complicate the whole "train resistance to fight" business somewhat, though. He was already on shaky ground. Sure, Wilbur vouched for him, and Tommy decided to stick to him and deafen his poor ears with all the shouting, but that wouldn't stand if he killed like, half of this ragtag bunch? Because he was pretty sure he could, especially with the element of surprise on his side. 

There was another option to get the pickaxe, however unpleasant for Techno personally due to a long, long, excruciatingly long list of reasons and complications. 

To shift into the human form he came to slightly tolerate.

The hybrid glanced at the closed-off entrance to the farm cave, frowning. He really hated it. He did have his other side taken care of, but that was the extend of his tolerance - he got it as healthy as he could (at least, to his extend of knowledge on how humans operated - which wasn't much, admittedly, but it was something, okay?), he trained it not to be stuck with a pitiful excuse of a body if he ever needed it. Yet his other form lacked the brute force and endurance he came to rely on, lean and wiry if anything. He couldn't tell, and frankly, didn't care enough to find out what other humans thought of his repressed form. 

The piglin didn't identify himself as a human, after all. 

Sighing, Techno was already internally cringing from all the made-up words Chat was going to throw his way for even daring to think about shifting. Honest to whatever Gods inhabited those forsaken lands, what was 'simp'? Who'd even think up a word like that? Of all the terrible things Chat could do to him, it somehow always managed to come up with terms that weren't real yet somehow still were disturbing and mildly offensive. 

But the pickaxe...

_ Anime Technoblade: commence! _

_ Ohh, fancy! _

_ Dance, pig-boy, dance for the pickaxe! _

_ Hot potato! Stay like that! _

_ Technoelf! _

The pigling sighed again, already knowing he'd spent too much time on his gear to abandon it because of some internal rumblings. And, welp, at least it wasn't--

_ EEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE! _

\--okay, nevermind.

Rolling his shoulders, Techno closed his eyes and concentrated on breathing. It was easier said than done, really, considering utter chaos in his mind, constant and familiar, but still distracting. Yet despite his wishes, shifting was natural to him, and he only needed to let his guard down for a moment, let his grip on one's core slide to feel his bones snapping into new positions, muscles cramping and restructuring themselves. It wasn't physically uncomfortable. Probably. Techno wasn't the most reliable of narrators when it came to physical discomfort. Considering the number of wounds and traumas he had experienced, his bar of what was considered 'uncomfortable' was most likely messed up at least slightly. However, he had an educated guess that the process was gruesome as hell to outside viewers if he remembered that horrified gasp Philza let out correctly. 

Then again, it may have been because of multiple bleeding wounds, burns, and frostbite that nearly cost him two fingers that Phil had to tend to. 

Or because his human form was that disgusting, who was he to judge humanoid attractiveness?

He knew he was done when his clothes hanged on him like on a coat rack. The hybrid groaned, as he opened his eyes and was greeted with the pink. The world was literally pink, with a strange vertical pattern running through it. 

Techno scowled, flailing to understand and to keep his clothes moderately in place. Okay, what the Nether was that? Did his human side go blind because of continuous disuse? He had sight issues before, so it wouldn't be too far of a stretch, but talk about the inconvenience!

It took him a moment and a couple of head movements (his neck felt so, so wrong without the hump) to realize what he was seeing. 

His hair, grown out of any semblance of reason, that fell all over him, barely scraping the dirt with some of the locks. 

It grew out.  _ Again! _ Even longer than it was previously, and he cut that thing almost to the roots!

_ Anime! Anime!  _

_ Technoprincess!  _

_ When will he start singing about his prince? _

_ WHEEEEEEN WILL MY LIFE BEEEEGIN-- _

_ The girl from the Ring: sakura edition. _

_ Come on, we're HOT now! POG! _

He would deal with that bother later, once he had his pickaxe back. Chat was being weird, but it was the norm by now.

He turned his gaze to the relatively-soft human hands, reflexively flexing fingers. Much less calloused, slim, slender. All five of them. Yes, they were kind of the point of transformation, but...  _ cringe _ . Just cringe. Those weren't the hands one could use to rip someone's windpipe out of their throat, and if that couldn't be done, what was the point of having functioning hands in the first place?

_ POOOOOOOG! _

_ Technohot! _

_ Anime elf spotted! _

_ Technoelf! _

_ Stay like that! Stay like that! _

_ Simp! sImP! SiMp! SIMPPPP! _

_ Noooo, the pig supremacy was betrayed!  _

Techno had to physically shake himself out of Chat's roar. That, among many, many, many other things was why he disliked shifting. 

He rolled his eyes when his piglin-fitted shirt all but slipped from one of his shoulders, clearly ill-fitted for someone who was considerably smaller and lankier than his normal self. He'd probably need at least two of his human selves to fill up the lost bulk. Maybe even two and a half. 

Unfortunately for this current situation, there could only be one true Technoblade, so the currently human-shaped hybrid held the belt of his pants and kneeled before the crevice. He won't let Chat humiliate him for losing his pants because of his forms' stupid size difference. Death before dishonor. 

This time, reaching inside the crack was easy, almost frighteningly so. He was constantly checking and double-checking the distance between sharpened rock edges and his objectively thinner and softer skin. This was giving him anxiety. He didn't remember how good or bad (probably bad) human regeneration was and if he'd end up with a chunk of his actual palm missing if he scraped it in this shape. 

Nervously, he licked his lips, finding small comfort in the fact that at least his tusks were in place - smaller, weaker, shorter, but still there, still sharp. He could bite through someone's artery with those if the need arose. Probably. He had to be careful not to lose the rings he usually wore on them, though, now dangling loosely much like his clothes. 

Nether, but was it cold without his fur! Human skin was so thin and sensitive. No wonder it ripped off so satisfyingly easily. Here, however, it was bothersome. 

Finally, his fingertips reached the pickaxe's handle, and he gripped it, carefully wiggling the damned thing out of the crack. After all this, it'd be insufferably dumb for it to get stuck in there. Luckily, he was stubborn and tenacious, a dangerous combination when given a rent-free place in a mind like his. Yes, even with Chat chiseling at the edges of his sanity. 

A few more moments of undiluted concentration and nervous tusk licking rewarded him with the pickaxe free and his anxiety slowly getting back to tolerable levels--

"Hey Blade, the fuck is taking you so long in here?!" he heard as the doors to the farm cave were banged open.

\--okay, scrape that final thought. 

Literally, that was  _ the worst _ time for Tommy to grow consciousness and come check on him. The hybrid was here since yesterday! Maybe even longer. Why  _ now _ ?

Hastily, Techno ripped the gilded, laboriously carved piglin skull he used as a pauldron, re-bound the leather straps into the second position, and got the mask on. The damned hair got in the way and stung, stuck in clasps, but that was on far low of the piglin's current priority list. 

Not in a million's chance he's going to show his human face! Technoblade never dies and Technoblade will never stoop that low. Ever!

"Who the fuck are you?!" Tommy demanded, his voice strained. Sure. The rebels thought they controlled the ravine in a way no one could get in or out without their notice. Everyone craved control in a time of chaos. 

Well, almost everyone. Someone could indulge in it. But adjusting to it took time. And practice. 

_ [Metalic click. Fabric rustling. No metal clanking and no glassy aftersound. Unarmored. Crossbow. Already wound up. No hump to take the blow keeping neck safe. No armor. Speed unclear due to shape misusage. The situation is unclear. Redirect all attention.] _

Slowly, painfully slowly and as discreetly as only possible, Techno got his own crossbow from the pile of his gear and stood up, keeping his cloak in place by one hand and turning to the boy just as slowly. Thank Nether, his cloak was so huge for his current form, he'd easily hid not only a crossbow but a set of full armor and a shield under it, with enough room for another person for good measure. 

Still, he wouldn't shoot. Not to kill. If anything, not  _ yet _ . To scare off, perhaps. Chat was surprisingly protective over the blond nuisance, and the last thing Techno needed right now was another headache. 

Their eyes met, black and white against blue, and Tommy gritted his teeth, crossbow raised up and ready to shoot, much like hybrid thought it was. 

"Wilbur! Get your fucking ass here, we have a problem!" 

Techno couldn't help but roll his eyes. Great. More people to see his shame. He should really start selling tickets. Everyone thought of him as a sellout anyway - which wasn't warranted, in his opinion. Well, not fully. He wouldn't sell out on his end-goals, nope, that was a given. But he still needed to eat, to trade for enchantment books, to pay for the inns. And money didn't grow on trees in case no one noticed. Which they probably didn't, idealists as they were. 

However, on the second thought, Wilbur's presence could actually be useful. If anything, he could help shut Tommy up and dissolve the attention they were obviously getting. The farm was set not too far from main walking ledges for convenient access, and now it was becoming a problem. Fast. 

"What did you do again, Tommy, I have work to do--"

_ [Leather screaking. Fabric rusting. No glassy aftersound. No armor. No enchantments. The threat is minimal. Dismissed.] _

"There's some bitch in Blade's cape and some freaky mask!"

_ Well someone doesn't know how to simp! _

_ Isn't he a minor? _

_ Racoon child: the beginning! _

_ Technohot! _

_ He's not into elves. _

_ Too bad for him. _

_ L. _

"What?" Wilbur's head peeked through the doors, eyes going wide for a second as he took the scene in. 

"Rude," the piglin replied at the same time, ever-monotone. Thank Nether for the small blessings, but at least his voice remained practically the same, save some unintentional snorts. That seemed to stun humans into a dumbfounded silence. 

Techno mumbled a few 'thank you for the twenty' under his breath to get Chat under a semblance of control. A futile attempt, but his migraine toned down a bit. Or so it felt like. The power of habit, probably. 

His ear twitched as he heard more footsteps, jewelry jingling comfortably in a small golden sound. He knew the sound couldn't be golden. To him, it still was. It meant peace and comfort - two things he was abundantly denied ever since he came to Pogtopia. 

More commotion outside. The blond wouldn't stop shouting. Soon someone might actually pay attention and listen to the words.

_ [Crystal echo in the steps. Glassy aftersound. Steps are light, fast. Too light. Feather falling? Possible nuisance. Track.] _

"Tommy. I need you to lower the crossbow, Tommy," Wilbur redirected his attention to the boy, but thankfully had enough common sense to not try and grab the weapon. Techno was really not in the mood to test his reflexes and how good he controlled a body that was as foreign as it was his. "Lower the crossbow. Now."

"Tell me one reason why I shouldn't shoot some bitch in a fucking stupid mask!" the blond sneered, grip on the crossbow tightening. "He stole Blade's cape!"

"Well that would be awkward," Techno sighed, toes digging into the tiled dirt unpleasantly. The fact that he had soft toes gritted against his nerves. Gosh, he wanted his nice sharp hooves back. "Me stealing from myself."

"The fuck are you talking about?!"

"Tommy, what's wrong?" another voice rang close by, higher, lighter. Feminine. He was pretty sure he heard that one before, but he wasn't sure of the name attached to it - Pogtopia was a big place, after all. The hybrid pinched the bridge of the mask's snout. Everything was going off the rails and into an abyss with a loud 'wheeeee!' from Chat and mental fireworks. Blue, red, black. With a hint of shimmer. It would look nice. Probably. 

"Oh," was all that the blond-haired woman said as she showed from the other side, pausing on the opposite side of Tommy than Wilbur. Her eyes skimmed over Techno, and piglin let out a snort:

"Oh indeed."

_ Technosimp! Technosimp! _

_ SiMp. _

_ Would you stop that? _

_ Chat is cringe. _

_ Criiiiiiiiiiinge. _

_ Shut up! _

_ You shut up! _

_ I want fries.  _

"You know what could be better than fries?" the hybrid mumbled, ravings in his head getting too much out of hand as the swarm of shards sank its immaterial fangs into itself. "Subscription to Technoblade. Subscribe to Technoblade to get him through embarrassment ark. It's free, unlike fries."

It was a good thing his voice was so low and he mastered the art of mumbling to chat almost as much as he mastered the art of war. 

"Tommy, lower the crossbow," Wilbur repeated once more, hand on boy's shoulder. "There's no need for that."

"Drag them in," the hybrid supplied, painfully aware of how his clothes slip off, too large for his current form. How cold he was despite the cloak. How uncomfortable all of this was. He was supposed to plant potatoes and get gear, train newbs and raise defenses of this newborn nation. Not be stuck here, under scrutinizing gazes he didn't deserve for all the inconvenience he was going through. "Lock the door behind you."

Wilbur, thankfully, followed the simple instructions. Tommy didn't because, well, Tommy. Piglin let out an exasperated sigh as an arrow twanked on the wall high above his left shoulder. 

"You're... pink," the girl noted dully, still watching him in awe. 

"He's pink in both forms, Niki," the main revolutionist laughed easily, pushing the other two humans further into the cave. Ah. So that was her name. Techno vaguely remembered hearing it, now that he heard it again. She wasn't officially on Pogtopia's side if he recalled correctly. Not yet, at least. A weird grey area between a sympathizer and a spy behind the enemy lines. "Shouldn't be that surprising, really."

Her boots did glisten with enchantment, though. Diamond. Interesting.

"Real men wear pink," Techno shrugged, hurriedly catching his cloak as it tried to slip off because of his movement. He tried to make it as dignified as possible. Perhaps he even succeeded, as no one laughed. Apart from Chat, of course. "Or so I was told."

"Well, this is bullshit, and whoever told that is a little bitch," Tommy frowned, eyeing him wearily. "I know only one insufferable pig who'd say that his primary color isn't girlish."

"Forms?" Niki asked instead, catching on the real meat of what Wilbur threw their way. The revolutionist grinned, patting both of their backs.

"Yes, forms, Nihachu. And Tommy, I'm sure the Blade can afford girlish primary color."

Now they were gawking at him. Techno sighed again. Wilbur and his theatrics...

"The Blade? That tall bitch can't be!" Tommy sputtered, equal parts confused and annoyed. "I mean he's-- That's not-- Technoblade is--"

"A were-beast," Wilbur supplied, his grin so wide it was almost cracking. The girl seemed lost in thought while Tommy tried to wrap his head around that piece of information. Piglin let out a huff, eyes narrowing. 

"Two can play this game, Wil," hybrid threatened evenly, only two of them knowing it was actually a threat. Wilbur's grin faded into a more controlled smile and he flailed his arms around, stepping forward. 

"Sure, sure, it's just that I don't get to tease you often."

"A few people dare," Techno replied in monotone. He didn't have a sword. It was laying behind him, in the pile of tools, but could as well be on the different side of the world. The weapon was just as much a part of him as tusks or tail, or claws. He felt naked without it, even in clothes, ill-fit as they were. "Even fewer survive to tell the tale."

"Ah," Wilbur grinned again, unhinged. "I'm honored to be the selected few, then."

"Wilbur," the hybrid pressed only to receive a wider smile from the man in front of him. 

"What, you want to answer to this little misunderstanding with violence?"

"Violence is not an answer," the piglin shrugged nonchalantly, only to receive surprised glances from Niki and Tommy. "It's a question. And the answer is  _ yes _ ."

_ Blood for the Blood God! _

_ Hey! Not Tommy! _

_ Run, raccoon child, run! _

_ They struggle? Good. _

_ Niki wanted to be in the main cast.  _

_ Rip. _

_ Wilbur, you had one job, one job! _

_ Calm down, if we don't want to murder them! _

_ We don't? _

_ Who said we didn't? _

_ Stab them! _

It didn't escape his sensitive ears how Wilbur gulped quietly, so he smiled slightly, reveling in the unease people radiated. It wasn't nearly as strong as when he was his true self but could suffice, for now. Humans were truly weird creatures. He was still Technoblade, the second-worst thing to happen to orphans, the Blood God, the Pig. Yet here they were, far less scared of him simply because he happened to look like one of them. Even though he openly threatened them, no one raised their weapon, no one backed away - which was all too common when he was the Boar of Hypixel.

Oh, the irony. 

"But not today, Wil, not today," Techno snorted, observing darkly how they all immediately relaxed and wearily smiled back. "Just stay silent about it and perhaps we can leave this behind us."

"Like fuck I would!" Tommy laughed obnoxiously, teeth flashing. "You're pink, bitch!  _ Pink! _ "

"Tommy, would you kindly shut up?" Wilbur interrupted, noticing how Techno's eyes squinted dangerously. He didn't see his grip tightening on the crossbow's handle, but the amount of murderous intent was more than enough for anyone to notice.

"Hey, it's not my fault he looks like a pussy!"

Okay.  _ Almost  _ anyone. 

"If that was any other day, I'd let you have your fun, but our pig friend over there looks tired by all of the attention," the revolutionist insisted, grabbing one of Tommy's shoulders in a firm half-hug. "Am I right, Techno?"

" _ Perhaps _ ."

He looked around the farm, finally taking time to register the sheer size of the hand-made cave, the brought down dirt, the tilted earth, and rows of planted potatoes. His eyebrows shoot up as he did that and came back to the piglin.

"This is, uh, bigger than I expected, but... You know, I've seen what you can do, Technoblade. I mean, how long have you been on this-- How long you've spent here?"

"Uhhh," the hybrid answered eloquently, cringing by all of Chat's ridicule. The sudden question helped him to snap out of the thoughts concentrated on whether or not human blood tasted the same for his human form. He sought through his memories and the hazy feeling of time passed, accounted for the way his muscles were sore and shook his head slightly. "I... haven't walked out."

"Wait. You...?"

"Really Blade?"

Suddenly, there was concern on their faces, all three of them. Even Tommy. Was it that bad? Techno couldn't tell. Being in the memory flow was nice, much quieter at the very least. He did what had to be done. And it wasn't like he had to force anyone else to do his task. Right? What was the reason to be concerned even?

"You haven't walked out from this farm from last night?" Wilbur pressed, and despite his best effort, Techno felt his toes digging into the dirt nervously. He loathed social interactions for a reason, damn it. 

"I've just-- I've just been here, yeah," he admitted, hating how his voice stuttered. 

It wasn't him! He was the Boar of Hypixel, the Blade! He wasn't supposed to get anxious and self-conscious because of a task well performed. He wasn't supposed to feel peer-pressured into loathing his efficiency by those stares. He couldn't even snort to drive those humans away or lower his head to a perfect angle to make tusks stand out more, or whip his tail once to make them squirm. 

Being like this was just the  _ worst _ .

"That's like... fourteen hours, Technoblade," Niki added, sounding clearly troubled. 

The piglin rolled his eyes and flipped his ears to press them against his skull, jewelry jingling peacefully and tangling painfully in the messed mop of his hair. 

Okay, this was getting ridiculous even for him. 

"Revolution waits for no man," Techno stated as dramatically as his monotone would allow, as he straightened his back even more. If only his cloak didn't look so ill-fitted now. But it was fine. At least it hid his other clothes well enough. 

"Right," Wilbur was still looking at him somewhat funny. "I respect-- I respect that, but I expected the rest of the cave to look a little bit more developed in that case."

The piglin flipped his ears again as he tilted his head to the side slightly, irritation seeping into the simple gesture. He got them enough food to fuel their poor excuse of a nation, and it still wasn't efficient enough? Hmpf. Talk about audacity. 

"Oh, that's not in my skillset," he snorted, wishing he could cross his arms but alas, no such luck for him. 

He wasn't even lying to skip the job, merely stating the facts. Despite being best friends with one of the best builders in the world, Techno never took after Phil's love for giant elaborate builds. He could replicate technology he merely got a glimpse of with frightening efficiency, yet going out of his way to create something of his own always felt too tedious to bother. 

When it wasn't weapons or armor, of course. 

"Alright. That's what I'll be doing today then," Wilbur turned to leave, grabbing both Niki and Tommy with him. "You two, come and help me, okay? And Tommy, Tommy I need to hear your report, too."

The blond boy yelled something in response, but it was Nihachu who turned back to give Techno one last look.

"You really should wash those," he said instead of goodbye. "Nice color, though."

With that, Techno was finally left alone to collect his thoughts, cringe at Chat and think. But most importantly, he could finally become himself, sighing with tired satisfaction as he stopped feeling like a guest in his own body.

Those were three long days, certainly. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Important note: My other work isn't abandoned, but life was kicking me, so I don't have enough time to be in two fandoms at once. My hyperfixation got the best of me, and I physically cannot think outside of DSMP now. Sorry for the delay on the Chained Butterfly. I will come back to it, I swear! But writing an Eldritch Horror believably and at a high standard turned out to be pretty hard. 
> 
> On a more related note:  
> Soo... guess who fell into DSMP rabbit hole and now one handsome pig lives there rent-free? =D  
> I wracked my head over trying to tie together all of the conflicting bits and pieces of lore, and I hope I did a half-decent job at that. Mostly, this thing is a character study of Techno and how he as a character came to be and reached the point he is now. Those won't be strictly chronological (I'll mention times at the start as I did in this one) and I try my best to keep them as self-contained stories for the most part with maybe an overarching lore on top because god knows I do not have the mental capacity or time, or energy to write two big chronological stories at once.  
> I know Niki wasn't in Pogtopia till later on, but I mean I had to dilute Tommy and Wilbur, and she's the one Techno invited to the anarchy side lately, so...  
> That being said, hope you enjoyed and Blood for the Blood God!


	2. Words

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Set in the short and struggling days of Pogtopia  
> Takes place a couple of days after Mask

"Faster!"

The growl echoed in the cave, making people duck their heads, knuckles pale from the pressure they applied to the stone swords in their hands. Techno snorted again, ripped snout twitching in disdain. Those newbs wouldn't last even a few moments in the heat of a real fight. Not that he cared too much, frankly, but he needed those distractions to last long enough for the real soldiers to do their jobs. And who knew, maybe he'd even find someone with at least a sliver of talent to handle anything resembling an actual weapon. 

Not that the piglin actually believed he would, but hey, perhaps there was some amount of dumb luck on his side after all?

"I showed it at least  _ three _ times," he grumbled, grabbing the closest man by the wrist and correcting the awful swing of the blade that made his teeth ache by merely observing it. The human quivered, jerked around like a ragdoll by the ironclad grip of the hybrid. Frail. Weak. Afraid. All that Techno was not, and he relished in it. "Swing. Step. Repeat. Put your back into it. Hit like you actually mean it. Steady stance. Repeat. And do it faster!"

The air of the newly established training hall - just a hastily lit cavern at the end of Pogtopia, really, with floor flat enough to be passable - was thick with the stench of sweat and tension. There were chests with training gear in the corner, the crudely cobbled up result of his yet another sleepless night. Couldn't be helped, as it turned out - getting enough gear to train a few dozens of people on such short notice was a testament to him being a miracle worker in itself. Further down the wall were a few benches where people all but crashed during short reprises, glaring at him and discussing something hushedly. He ignored those, paying attention to the trainees. And on the opposite side, with backs turned to others for everyone's safety, was a separate section for archers, marked with smoothed stone and diorite. 

Techno painstakingly marked the training lines himself and made the dummies and targets - he got into the flow while doing so and wasn't sure when he finished. What he did know, though, was that now he loomed over the trainees, huffing and snorting in exasperation at what he saw. 

"Pull the bowstring properly. With your back! I'm not stitching your muscles if you tear them. Hold the hand steady if you actually want to shoot. Aim with-- Huh? You!" a maybe-archer-in-the-future-but-unlikely jerked, head ducked and a bead of sweat on his forehead glistening in the torchlight. The piglin grunted, reaching him in a few long strides, grabbing the loser by the collar and dragging him back to the shooting line. 

"But I hit it! There, an arrow is sticking-- It's there, I hit it!" the human protested, and Techno cringed. 

"If I see you creeping forward to the target and crossing the line again, I'm making you into a practice dummy for others," he growled, eyeing the man down at the perfect angle to show off his freshly sharpened tusks and the golden rings that adorned them. The poor sod just gulped, eyes fixated at the bone knives in front of him. "Are we understood?"

_ Stab him! Stab the noob! _

_ We're doomed. _

_ Crush his bones! Rip those eyes! _

_ Blood! Blood! Blood! _

_ With friends like these, we don't even need enemies.  _

_ Stab them! Solves both problems! _

_ Stabbing solves all problems. _

_ You just gotta stab hard enough.  _

All he received were a few jerking nods. Sighing, the piglin let the sorry excuse of an archer go and got back to the sorry excuse of swordsmen. He paused when a few of them weren't practicing but stared at him expectedly, and the hybrid flipped his ears, thinking. The jingling of jewelry was calming, but it wasn't calming enough. He didn't like the stares. Was he forgetting to show them a new exercise? That seemed unlikely. No human looked even remotely ready to proceed with their training. 

Still, they wouldn't talk, just stare at him. Sighing, Techno decided to try this 'social interaction' Wilbur was harping about and graced them with a short:

"Heh?"

"This isn't training. That's humiliation!" one of the men fumed, gripping his training weapon. The piglin eyed his grip and snorted:

"I mean, that's kinda the point. You get to be idiots here and live instead of being idiots in the battle and die instantly."

"Of course we'll die!" the second one chimed in, the pitch making Techno's ears twitch irritably. "Stone weapons? Who even uses those!"

"You do," the piglin deadpanned, unamused. 

"Because you force us to!"

"You don't deserve any better," the hybrid crossed his arms, snorting. "What were you expecting? Full netherite? It's--" 

"--at least iron!" someone tried to talk over him, making his tail stiffen just the tiniest of bits. 

"It's training, and you have at least three mistakes in the way you hold your sword," he finished as if it didn't happen. 

"I held it in the previous war and it worked just fine!" the man raged, and the piglin snorted derogatorily, staring through the nuisance. 

Because what he saw instead were memories of the realm as glorious as it was abandoned, of the battles that raged in its name, now long lost, buried under the thick layer of snow and remorse. The taste of gunpowder coated his tongue, the vertigo of the heights unknown to this remote country dazed him, and the familiar crisp of frozen air filled his longing lungs. The confident yet ever-fleeting hint of feathers and sugar that weren't there tickled his torn snout, concealing the ever-lasting tint of blood that no amount of water, soap, or time could wash away. 

Those of less willpower would love to forget that massacre.

Technoblade relished in remembrance of the times when the world quivered in his grasp.

_ From emperor to anarchist? _

_ What a career, loser! _

_ Whatever. Let it burn. _

_ Ice can't burn, moron. _

_ LET IT GOOOOO--!!! _

_ I swear, I wanna kill all of you! _

_ Do you think he remembers us? _

"You don't know what real war is," Techno dropped, finally, startled by Chat to times present and far less pleasant. And before the human would disgrace his ears by more stupidity, he snorted. "But you're bold, even if stupid. I can respect that."

The hybrid turned to other trainees, raising his voice slightly:

"Clear the middle. Anyone who thinks he's worth more than I offer, grab iron gear from the top chest and move to the center," he turned back to the man confronting him, lowering his head slightly, so that golden rings would catch the torchlight better. The piglin didn't like to use words, preferring actions as those were always truer, yet people seldom understood without them. "Show me your war, and I'll show you mine. We'll see whose will turn out bolder."

The humans, still somewhat shellshocked by the most obvious turn of events, stumbled to the chests. Techno followed them with a long, unfocused stare. He hasn't thought of the frozen wastelands he had to abandon in a long, long time, and frankly, those thoughts were far more interesting than poor sods in front of him. Though, to be fair, the perspective of a fight, or at least a poor excuse of one, was thrilling in itself. 

"Do you want them to hate you even more, Technoblade?" Wilbur asked, light and unsteady steps tip-toeing closer to the towering hybrid. The other one huffed in a crude estimation of a laugh.

"I dunno what you're talking about, Wil," the piglin glanced at the revolutionist who stopped beside him and returned his gaze to the bunch of morons who barely could pull on iron armor. "All I know is everybody loves me."

_ Kill them! Kill the newbs! _

_ Blood! Blood! Blood! More! _

_ Wipe the floor with them! _

_ We can't kill pupils in front of our formal boss! Guys?!? _

_ Oh, they don't know who they're messing with! _

_ Those nerds are gonna die! _

_ You missed the blood block! _

_ Stab them! Stab 'em! _

"Sure," Wilbur laughed, a fracture in the sound hidden underneath the mirth. Techno's ear twitched as he acknowledged the distortion, but it wasn't his place nor his right to tell someone when to seek help in others. "Don't you need gear for the fight?"

"Right. I knew I was missing something. Not that I need much for those nerds."

The hybrid reached to the hidden pouch on his belt, fished out a small cube, and threw it on the ground with a calculated move that betrayed how casual it was for him right before digging into it. It was funny to hear others gasp at something as trivial as an Ender Chest, though. 

Gosh, he wasn't wrong when he said those were forsaken lands, was he?

"You're... He's going for his netherite armor!" one of the nuisances squealed, looking around frantically. "He's gonna kill us! That pig gonna kill us all!"

As much he wished for that outcome, that wasn't the plan so far. Wilbur looked at him, head tilted to the side and a carefree smile on his lips.

"Do you, Technoblade?"

"Why would I need netherite for this sorry bunch?" the hybrid snorted distractedly, fishing out a few regen potions in case he would actually maim one of those idiots and a pile of leather scraps that remained in the corner of the chest, forgotten from the last time he... he... probably needed to tie something. Maybe someone. Did it really matter? It probably didn't, if he survived it, and he never died. He never got hurt. His scars were never inflamed. He never ever coughed blood and squealed in pain so potent he actually wished he was. 

It never happened. And they never talked about it with Chat.

Ever. 

"Oh. Fair, I suppose," Wilbur was swaying on his feet from toes to heels and back. "So what're you doing, then, if you don't plan to murder us in cold blood?"

_ [Leather scraping. Metal against leather, but faint. No armor. Glassy tingle. Enchantment. One. On weapon? Unclear. Track.] _

"No, no, no, I-- No, listen, I never said I didn't okay? Because I didn't. But that's beside the point," he probably said something wrong, by the looks of it and the stunned silence. Techno sighed, finishing wrapping his sharpened hooves. Why were social interactions so  _ hard _ ? He'd rather get through a couple tournaments without reprise. "I need the wrappings so I won't maim anyone, okay? See?"

There was a beat of silence. 

The hybrid missed it, preoccupied with testing the wrappings and getting his Ender Chest back into the pouch. The potions were at their rightful place on his belt, and he had to admit that he reflexively got strength one too. That was instinct by now, and there was no worth in fighting it. 

Techno took a step and paused, turning back to Wilbur.

"Oh. Right. Cape. Wil, hold my cape? Those furs, you know. I mean, they're--"

'From a long-dead place that I treasure regardless," he doesn't say. Because Wilbur asked him here, in the present, in what should be alive country occupied by alive people. Because he shouldn't think of snow and torn banners and defaced statues of the leaders who left when there was no one but them. 

"I don't want to stab them repeatedly afterward 'cause they tried to ruin it, okay?"

"Can't see why not," the man shrugged nonchalantly, yet his hands were careful when he held the blood-red cape, fingers sinking in the icy-white furs. "You're leaving your jewelry on, though?"

"That's the point," Techno snorted as he stepped in front of his opponents, flapping his ears to feel the earings adorning them. Delicate chains and ornate clasps he crafted as a means to pacify himself. The golden sound, so soothing in reminding him of something lost even before the cold he had to abandon. 

Ironic.

The hybrid eyed his opponents. Five people in iron armor, put on as hastily as unprofessionally, suddenly unsure when Techno stood before them without weapons and armor. Funny, really. They were so scared of the idea of him adorning the netherite, and now shook because he didn't. 

"Who goes first against you?" one of them asked, glancing at others, and the piglin laughed.

"All of you."

Immediately, he lunged, aiming at the most shivering guy, grabbing him and throwing him into the floor with a deafening clank of iron and a startled yelp. He rushed to the second human, using his shoulder to ram him into the wall, trying to make the most of their stupor. The cacophony of iron colliding with stone made him growl, the choir in his head crystalizing into a unified song. 

_ Blood for the blood god! _

That made others move, but not fast enough, never fast enough. Techno dodged the sloppy swing, teeth bared into a snarl as he grabbed the sword and savored the horror in human's eyes despite the lack of time to do so. The choir in his head chanted, shards shifting into a shining, shimmering whole, as he twisted man's wrist till it snapped in his grasp, dropping the weapon.

There was a sweet, metallic scent in the air, and Techno's snout twitched, recognizing it immediately. 

_ Blood for the blood god! _

Long ago, that was all he had when the crowd of similarly-faced bastards on top of the fighting pit roared as he killed his opponents again, and again, and again. Those were the first words of the human language he learned.

_ Blood for the blood god! _

When his mind begged him for sleep, when his body craved comfort, when his wounds needed treatment, when his stomach growled for sustenance, he provided the chant instead.

_ Blood for the blood god! _

When he wanted to give up, when the world was against him, when all of his plans failed, when he wished he was dead, he lost himself in the chant of whatever entity that occupied the crevasses of his mind. 

_ Blood for the blood god! _

When he had nothing to lose, he clung to the chant because it, at least, stood forever-true. As long as the chant was there, he was never alone, he would not stop, and he wouldn't die because Technoblade never died!

"Blood for the blood god!" he laughed with the Chat, relishing in the terrified squeals. The last opponent ran, coward like the rest of them, frightened to fight one unarmed pig! "Die! Die! Die-e-e!"

And the Chat sing-song with him, homogenous and unified in the clashing and clanking that deafened his sensitive ears, hundreds of thousands of voices finally becoming one and enveloping him in a blood-warm embrace. 

_ Blood of the blood god! _

He was back where he belonged. In the frozen wastelands, in the cacophony of motors roaring and guns firing, at the heights far above elytra's capabilities to soar, among explosions and screams, the one who not only thought of conquering the known world but actually came up with a plan to do just that and enough tenacity to see it come to fruition. 

The spite of gods that followed was tastier than ever.

_ BLOOD FOR THE-- _

There was a sudden hand at his shoulder, careful, yet firm, shattering Chat's unison into a jumbled mess of shards, at war with itself like it usually was.

"Technoblade!"

Dazed, the hybrid blinked slowly, memories twisting the reality, as he breathed out a quiet, unsure:

"Philza...?"

"Not quite," the smile that slowly came to his red-hazed vision was way too knowing and way too pained for his liking. Brown hair instead of pale blond. Brown beany instead of a bucket hat. A low chuckle. Wilbur, his memory supplied a name, a bit unsure. "Though, I'm not surprised he's the first one who came to your mind."

Techno blinked again, slowly, as the surroundings emerged from the red fog. Sloppily made cave, barely smoothed walls, flickering torchlight. Pale spots of humans, pressing their backs into said walls. His hand on someone's neck, hooves bending iron, crushing the men into the wall. The sheer, animalistic terror in the human's eyes caused by one of the piglin's sharpened tusks pressing its point under his jaw, inches away from the artery.

When... did this happen?

"H-heh?"

Yeah, that sounded eloquent. 

"Well, whatever makes you stop is fine by me," Wilbur said, but he stepped away. "I'd like you to put that man down, Technoblade."

_ [Leather against the metal. Glassy sound on wood. Crossbow. Armed?] _

The hybrid shifted his weight, still caught up in the cave-in of his thoughts.

When did it happen?

"Uh... That's..." 

Was he stalling for time to come to his senses? Perhaps. 

"I, uh, I-I almost-almost lost my temper, here," he supplied, carefully, forever grateful for the monotone sound of his voice. 

"Right. Almost," Wilbur chuckled at the blatant lie-- The truth! The truth. The audacity of the man chuckling at the truth, dear gods. "Put him down, man."

"That. That would've been unfortunate. If I did," his mind was still a mess. Even Chat was in shambles, mere echoes, and garbled sounds instead of words. "Which I didn't."

"Of course. Pull your tusks away from his neck, please."

Techno wanted to nod before he remembered in what position he was and that he probably killed the man before him if he moved his head too much. The air smelled of sweat and blood. And... piss? Really?

The piglin cringed, hard.

"Uhh... Sure. Sure. My tusks deserve better, honestly."

"That they do," Wil agreed, voice surprisingly cheerful for the situation at hand. "Put him down. C'mon, Technoblade, put him down. You really should put him down."

The piglin's ears flicked, filtering out the sounds of horrified people murmuring something at the farther end of the cave. His ripped snout twitched, trying to catch the smell. He was sure there was something, there was, there was--

_ [Metal and wood. Glassy aftersound. Softer rustle. Bitter smell. Poison arrow?] _

Techno sighed, slowly moving his head away not to provoke the people around. He was sure he could survive the fight, but... why would he fight Wilbur over something as trivial as that? Those people were idiots. A sad sight, really, yet barely deserving of death. 

Besides, his tusks deserved better than some poor sod who was now hanging in his hand like a broken doll, quietly wheezing on one low note. 

Of course, it went exactly like he was certain it would.

The Chat got mad, shards shifting together into an incomprehensible wail, peppered with semi-coherent phrases. 

_ Why'd you stopped?! _

_ No! Bad pig, bad pig, bad--! _

_ Stab them! _

_ Blood! _

_ Rip hi-- _

_ Technoblade never-- _

_ Blood! _

_ We win the-- _

_ Blood! _

_ Blood! _

_ BLOOD! _

Grunting, Techno stepped back, suppressing the dizziness that threatened to make him sway on his feet, and finally released the man, who plopped on the floor and just half-sat there, still wheezing, eyes wide and unblinking. 

Pitiful sight. 

_ Blood! _

His hooved hands twitched slightly, and Techno shook himself back to his senses. To... whatever semblance of his senses he could shake himself to, at least. 

_ Blood! _

He won't last long, though. 

_ Blood! _

"Wil, look after this bunch of nerds," Techno forced out, tongue feeling too big and too stiff for his mouth. Words were so crude, so useless to produce. They sounded so distorted, a mixture of oinks and grunts. "I-I need to..."

It didn't matter. Wilbur looked, Wilbur nodded, Wilbur understood. 

_ Blood! _

He always did. 

_ Blood! _

They always did, both Philza and he.

Sometimes it was too much. 

_ Blood! _

Too much for Techno to handle, he wasn't used to anyone but Chat and red haze in his eyes, and--

"Blood for... for... blood... blood... blood...? Blood."

"Okay, mate," there was a hand on his shoulder again, firm, yet not harsh. The rustle of furs and their familiar, dusty scent. He dug his hooves into the thick, heavy cloak, relishing in the familiarity it brought. "I think I have a more pressing matter at hand. Come on now, I have just what you need."

_ Blood! _

_ Where are you going? _

_ Why do you let him? _

_ Blood! _

_ He'll trick you! _

_ You want to end in another pit? _

_ Blood! _

_ They left you! _

_ They were better off without you! _

_ Blood! _

_ We're always there. _

_ We're here for you. _

_ We're not them.  _

_ We won't leave.  _

_ Blood! _

"Ex-xactly," he huffed quietly, unsure if he actually did or merely thought he did.

"You actually heard me, Technoblade?" Wilbur asked, voice shattering against the onslaught of voices. 

_ WE DEMAND BLOOD!  _

_ And you will yield to us. _

"N-no," the hybrid shook his head. His hooves clicked against the stone. It was so loud. Everything was so loud. But not loud enough, not sufficient to make the shards of the broken choir reform into a singing, overwhelming and powerful voice that reverberated in his body each time he fought, making him unstoppable. 

"Well, this is awkward," Wilbur laughed, airy and unhinged, sound as jarring as it was familiar. "Come on, big man, I was asking whether or not you can make fifty more steps without ripping my throat out?"

"You d-die on fifty-first," Techno deadpanned, speech slurred from all the jumble in his thoughts. He clung to the voice that differed from the Chat just as much as he clung to his old furs. 

There was a beat of silence, and then a lighthearted:

"Deal."

Technoblade blinked, and even voices seemed quieter for a second. 

"Now then, move your hoves, go-go-go as you like saying. We're almost there," Wilbur laughed again, dragging the pigling after him. There was indeed an enchanted crossbow on his back, the hybrid duly noted, eyeing the shimmering purples that danced on the wood. 

Mesmerizing. 

He wondered absentmindedly how would he feel if he ever found himself in the crosshairs of that crossbow. Would he be enraged? Would he accept? Would he be too tired to care?

Would it matter, in the end?

_ We win these! _

_ We always do.  _

_ You'll rip them apart! _

_ They're newbs. _

_ He can barely shoot! _

_ Technoblade never dies. _

Somehow, the usual reassurance sounded like a curse, now. 

"There you go," Wilbur startled him out of his thoughts and ushered the piglin to the metal door surrounded by torches. There was a button near it, Techno's mind noted somewhere down where it always did, but he had enough cognitive function only to tilt his head to the side and produce a questioning sound that still vaguely sounded like: 

"Blood?"

"Yep, gallons of the stuff," Wilbur agreed, yanking his furs away and proceeding to unwrap his hooves while muttering. "What were those idiots thinking, challenging you? Why do I always have to deal with the mess? It's like they don't know what the Pig of Hypixel does to people... So much for establishing revolution, it's like herding cats." 

He pressed the button and the door slammed open, revealing a dark pit of dug out stone. There was some movement inside, red eyes blazing and pointed legs skittering about.

"Now, in you go!" the revolutionist sing-sang as he pushed the piglin down. 

The door closed behind his back, and Techno found himself snout to chelicerae of at least a dozen of spiders. His ears twitched before going flat against his skull. The mobs, it seemed, were just as confused about the sudden intrusion, as the hybrid was.

And then one of them moved. 

That caught piglin's attention immediately.

Movement meant life.

Life meant blood unspilled. 

Technoblade huffed, feeling a slasher smile growing on his face. It wasn't what he'd call therapeutic, but blood is blood, heh. He will be sated, and that what mattered, in the end.

Wilbur listened, Wilbur recognized, Wilbur knew. 

That caring nerd. 

So he laughed, golden rings glistering dully in the dim light that seeped through the door, as he lunged forward, tusks and hooves bare. He laughed as he ripped the first spider's eyes out, as his hoof crushed the head of the second one. They were no match for him, even unarmed. So he laughed to kill and killed to laugh, and the choir that plagued his mind rejoiced in the mindless act of violence. 

"Just don't break the spawner or the party is over!" Wilbur laughed from the other side, and the Chat joined in on their laugh, cheering them being free from what society wanted to see, unhinged to shine with their true colors. 

Which was soothing, in the most brutal, carnage way possible. 

Almost immediately, Techno was in the flow, the jabs and strikes felt as natural as breathing, maybe even more so. He paused only when the floor was slick, his shirt was completely ruined, his hands tremored slightly from overexertion, and even mindless mobs seemed to hesitate before rushing him like they used to. So he squished another spider in a satisfying splash of ichor and turned to the door to leave after the Chat had their fill for the time being. 

There was one small issue, though. 

There was no button, no pressure plate, no nothing to make that happen.

Frowning slightly, Techno banged on the metal surface. 

"Wilbur, let me out," gosh, his voice was ruined, raspy and coarse from all the chanting and laughter. He needed water and to keep silent for some time. And some sleep, preferably, but he already wasted enough time here. Then again, he farmed enough spider silk to weave enough fabric to dress up a battalion while therapeutically massacring mobs. Talk about multitasking. 

"Have you calmed down?" came a startled, somewhat sleepy reply. 

"Yep," he emphasized that 'p' sound, breaking off a leg of a spider that dared to come close enough to be grabbed. The wounded mob screeched, pained, and tried to flee. The piglin pinned it down with its own leg, feeling as the blood washed his fingers. A tingle of satisfaction ran down his spine at that, fur bristling. "Now let me out."

"How do I know that you're back to sanity?"

The hybrid sighed, rubbing his face in exasperation. He was covered in ichor head to toe, there was no need to be careful. 

"Wil, you're spending too much time with Tommy," he snorted. "I want to get out of here, have a bath, and account for the time wasted."

"Well, you sound convincing, not gonna lie," Wilbur hummed yet there was a hint of mischief in his voice that could only be there when there was an iron door between them, and the hybrid was too tired to rip through it. Rolling his eyes, Techno braced for the impact. "But not convincing enough."

Yeah, here it was. 

"Wil," the piglin growled as he irritably ripped the head off of another spider. Without the flow, that was becoming repetitive even for him. 

"I mean I'm just concerned for Pogtopia's safety!" the man responded in mock seriousness. "You nearly slaughtered that man in cold blood."

"In my defense, that was a provocation from their side, and my blood was anything but cold."

"That I noticed."

"And it was funny to see them run away from an unarmed pig."

"True," Wilbur had to agree, giggling. "Next time I'm giving you a steak, for the ridiculousness of the sight."

'Next time'. Interesting.

"But you're not going to let me out that easily, are you?" Techno sighed, leaning against the door. The spiders backed away, content to call a truce. Funny how mobs were more intelligent than most kings that he met.

"Nope," came a reply that mocked his previous 'p' emphasis. 

Technoblade grunted, licking his tusks out of habit and spitting out the bitter aftertaste of ichor. It didn't help much. 

"So what do you want from me?"

"Recite me something," he could hear the smile in Wilbur's voice. 

"Who's the crazy one among us?"

"Come on, Techno," the revolutionist laughed, and finally, the sound didn't feel as broken and distorted like it was previously - simply... sad. That, for whatever reason, startled the piglin. "You used to do that often when you visited."

Ah. The request suddenly became so much more comprehensible. 

"What did I do?"

There was a pause, and much quieter. 

"You called me Phil."

"Eh?"

Techno paused, rubbing his ripped face again. He thought so much about the frozen wastelands, about the shadows hidden in the ice, that... He did, didn't he?

"Gimme... a moment."

Sighing, he moved to the spiders again, lunging at them with silent efficiency of movements, ripping away legs and eyes, but keeping the wounds neat and small enough so that mobs would be barely alive for long enough to fool the spawner and give him respite. All that time his movements were swift and automatic, his mind wandering over what he can even recite, what can he tell to someone who was supposed to be better off - yet turned out just as scuffed?

The silence was there, tired and anxious, and full of memories unshared, of secrets untold, of words unspoken. Funny - in the most uncomfortable way.

Exhausted by his mind more than anyone should be, Techno sled down to the floor, resting his back against the cold smoothness of the metal door. An old, barely alive by now part of him that relished in golden sound of jewelry and rings on his tusks knew that his so-called twin was sitting in the same pose on the other side of the door. 

He could've laughed - "Look, Wil, a metaphor!"

He didn't. 

Instead, he leaned his head back, resting it against the door, and let his heavy eyelids slid down. Even the Chat tuned down, barely a frail whisper at the recesses of his mind, as he reached to that part of him that was seldom acknowledged by others. 

"The art of losing isn’t hard to master;

so many things seem filled with the intent

to be lost that their loss is no disaster."

His voice was ruined, but the words fell easily from his mouth as if they felt unwelcomed among the blood and tusks, and teeth, and gold, and rushed to leave their cursed place. 

He remembered them sounding so differently. 

"Lose something every day. Accept the fluster

of lost door keys, the hour badly spent.

The art of losing isn’t hard to master."

On the other side of the door, Wilbur took a sharp breath through his teeth. Technoblade sighed. Unlike poetic sayings, having a gaping wound shared by two individuals just made two wounded people, bonding moments be damned. 

"Then practice losing farther, losing faster:

places, and names, and where it was you meant

to travel. None of these will bring disaster."

He wanted to chuckle, as the frozen ocean unraveled before his mind's eye, ice for miles and miles down. He didn't, walking through the clanging halls of his memories, metal of the walls frozen solid among those who tried to find reprise there. 

Only now, years later, he could clearly see what a foolish endeavor it was, to try and build those leviathans of coal, steel, and redstone. To try to go with the evacuation plans, to believe that it was he who was wrong, not the calculations.

To try and save what was already lost.

He didn't remember the next verse, but did it really matter, if he remembered the frozen-through corpses, bundled up against the engine? Did it matter, if he remembered how metal, and cloth, and flesh crumbled under his fingers, melting into mudded, blood-stained water? Did it matter, if he remembered Phil's darkened eyes and his supportive, exhausted silence battling against the howling wind?

Another attempt to undo their mistake.

Same result.

"I lost two cities, lovely ones. And, vaster,

some realms I owned, two rivers, a continent.

I miss them, but it wasn’t a disaster."

They never told, and Wilbur was cunning enough to see in their grave-like reticence the reason not to ask. Was it fair of Technoblade, then, to confess, now of all times, and in such a manner? The furs that hybrid prised, his sudden fascination with the cold and distaste of Nether, his turn to anarchy, the white sun floating against the icy blue that adorned their shields - it wasn't hard to connect the dots.

At least, Techno hoped that Wil could connect them. 

"You're lying," his twin finally breathed out.

"I know," the former king of the world snickered just as quietly and unamusedly. 

There was a pause when each of them was lost in their own loss. 

"Have you seen him?"

"Not since two years ago, at the tournament. You?"

"No. I couldn't find him, nor any trace of him, so I switched to finding you."

"Wow, I'm flattered to find out that I'm considered a last resort."

"Oh shut up, you know what I meant."

There was another beat of silence before Technoblade was left without any support for his back as the door swung open. Wilbur was looking at him, the same pained madness in them both. It's just that one mask had its tusks out and one didn't. 

"Dear god you look like shit," the man offered him one of his genuine smiles, a rare treat lately, as he extended a hand to help him stand up. 

"Objection," Techno huffed, accepting the peace offering. "I'm flawless, therefore, fabulous."

"Humble, too," Wilbur grunted as he tried to pull the larger piglin up. The hybrid decided not to be malicious and actually stood up. 

"Exactly."

"Are you going to turn all of my thinly veiled insults into compliments?" the man huffed, leaving to the dorms. Those weren't thinly veiled as much as shoved to his face, and he suppressed a laugh. 

Techno stayed for a few moments, checking that the door was properly closed and the spawner wasn't completely ruined before catching up with him.

"Perhaps," his snout still twitched, betraying his amusement. Wilbur snorted, smiling like they were back among the gardens of Phil's small cottage. 

Like there were no years of silence. 

Like words could actually mean something. 

"You're an arrogant pig."

"Thank you."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the chapter I really wanted to post and basically all I have so far. Oh welp.   
> The poem used is One Art by Elizabeth Bishop. I feel it really fits the fall of the Antarctic Empire and how Techno had to deal with it. (I really hope it's not, like, one of those must-read poems you have to deal with in school that people cringe on sight). The backstory will be dived into much more later on, as I tried to tie in Phil killing a dragon canonically while having no End on the DreamSMP, and the Antarctic Empire, and Hypixel, and it got complicated _fast_... That is, if I ever finish those one-shots... Gosh I want to stop existing, 2,5 hours of sleep isn't enough my good people.   
> I wonder if the pieces of lore that I want to show are visible here or not exactly. Time will tell.


	3. Reflection

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A place of old times, an even older friend. What can be found there?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Set in the glorious and omitted days of the Antarctic Empire  
> Takes place before the inevitable World Conquest

The room was cold enough for their breath to stay in the air as a fog, and Phil had to rub his hands from time to time. For the past hour, he was trying to read through yet another report but got bored about twenty minutes ago and started drawing on its margins instead. Probably yet another schematic of a redstone machine, if Techno had to make an educated guess. 

"Remind me why are you doing this, mate," he grumbled lightly, biting at the end of the quill absentmindedly. 

Technoblade swam closer and paused, grabbing the border of the pool. His wet pink fur was sticking in odd patterns, and it was kind of fascinating how apparent it was once it was wet. People usually didn't even notice he had it. Because of the frost, it looked grayish and sickly the moment his arms were out of the water. Then again, maybe the stubborn hybrid did feel a bit under the weather but wouldn't tell anyone. Even Phil.

"Because I'm a Nether hybrid," he huffed, snout twitching. It was probably the most cold-sensitive part of him now. Apart from the tail, perhaps. Maybe not. He was too numb to tell at this point, honestly. 

"Yeah, my point exactly. Never thought you were into suicide."

"I'm just trying to be prepared," the piglin snorted, starting swimming again. He couldn't stop, the cold was getting to him to the point of pain. 

"Why do you even need to train swimming in the cold? You're gonna get sick, mate, badly," his Imperial Adviser was looking at him, head tilted to the side. It looked like a bird. Or a lizard. Which was pretty much the same, save for feathers. "And mark my words, I'm not gonna sit through another sleepless week when you'll get a fever spike because you're an idiot."

"I was telling you to go to sleep," Technoblade huffed as evenly as he could manage, still somewhat irritated that his body decided to buckle so horribly. During a few of the fever spikes, he could've sworn he felt how he was cooking himself alive despite being inherently built to withstand Nether temperatures. Sometimes he wondered if that's how sinners felt in Hell. Then he remembered he was an atheist. And then fever spiked again, and he wasn't even remotely in any condition to form coherent thoughts, all his being reserved to survival. 

Sure thing, Chat immediately started cackling like a madman in his mind, shards digging into themselves and his sanity. The cold slowed it down and turned it quieter, but only relatively. 

_You were screaming._

_Did he? He couldn't even breathe._

_Some Blood God, amirite?_

_And crying._

_Technobabe!_

_Ugh, that one is cursed._

_Baby. The word you were trying to say is baby._

_Still cursed._

_And clinging to him._

_He didn't even know it was Dadza._

_Lame._

_L._

_Guys, he was literally dying! Ease off._

_Still lame._

_No kills while dying, shaking my head._

"Sure, mate, I was going to sleep soundly while you were literally dying," Phil huffed accusingly, leaving the scribbled over report alone and hiding his hands in the sleeves of his cloak. The hybrid was grateful for the distraction from the Chat, even though it was hard to concentrate on the talk through both cold and the buzzing. "This is why we got all of those enchantments for your armor and fuck, even your clothes. You're the embodiment of the word 'overprepared', but now you're back to being a moron. If you haven't taken your meds too, I swear to gods, Techno, I'm gonna drown you myself."

The man sitting on the edge of the Royal Pool was probably the only living creature who knew how sickly, exactly, the Undying Pig was, and Technoblade was intent on keeping it that way. The less his many, many foes knew about him, the better off he was. Still, there was a bitter point to his friend's words. Years of abuse in gladiator arenas and neglecting one's health tend to have consequences, after all. He was lucky to be too sturdy or too stubborn to actually die from any complications he had to stumble through during his perilous life. 

The piglin had to dive to get his head a bit warmer in an attempt to clear out the hatching headache. The chattering of Chat who stirred from its light slumber didn't help it in the slightest. Too bad the water did nothing to mute the voices.

_You missed the water._

_Waterhog! Hogblade?_

_When we stab things?_

_More like ice._

_Can be both._

_Can a God drown? Let's find out!_

_Mine the water!_

_With a shovel._

_Fortune III shovel._

_Please be okay! Don't get sick!_

_I'm bored._

_He's planning something._

Technoblade resurfaced back near Philza when his lungs started burning so he didn't have to strain his throat talking louder than he absolutely had to. His voice was already breaking. He should have chanted a few "thank you for the twenty" to let the Chat simmer down, but Phil was too close and too concerned as is. 

"I did," he assured instead, spitting out the water and instinctively licked his tusks. Without the rings, they felt so naked, yet Techno had to take those off at some point - the prolonged contact of icy metal to the teeth was mind-numbly painful. 

"Don't tell me you're training to hold your breath too," the human rolled his eyes. "You have respiration on all of your helmets and on some jewelry too, what's the point?"

"But what if my armor is taken away?"

Philza sighed and rubbed his head tiredly with the expression of an overworked parent. Which was hilarious, since it was his usual annoyed expression, but people tended to forget that and jump to some weird conclusions. 

"You of all people are afraid of someone just yoinking your armor from you?" the man asked with exasperation. "You, who is the most feared fighter at this side of the world, who fought countless wars and won, you think someone can take your armor from you? Just like that?"

Techno weighted his words, thinking about what could he say in response. 

'What if they capture you and demand it?' he didn't say, taking a deep breath and diving in the icy water instead, because that would not only be admitting to one's weakness but also diminishing Phil's abilities as a fighter, and he wouldn't seriously do that. The man earned his title of Angel of Death just as much as Techno was revered as the Blood God. 'What if your life's on the line, the only one you have? You honestly think I would trade it for a piece of enchanted netherite? That I wouldn't throw away months of hard work and the rarest materials we have, my weapons, my crown? Because I would. And we both know it.'

But he didn't say any of that. He never did, and he never would. They weren't the men of words. Their actions spoke for themselves, and he had two perfectly aligned arrow scars on his chest to prove what he meant and what was his choice on the matter. 

_You nearly died._

_Aww, he cares._

_We didn't even know him back then!_

_Technoblade never dies!_

_Well, he almost did._

_Lots of times._

_We had to protect Dadza!_

_They died first._

_And they screamed._

_Music to my ears._

_Stab? When do we stab?_

_Or shoot. We're not picky._

_Carpet-bomb them!_

_He'll die because of you._

_Then we kill the world instead of gifting it._

Techno didn't want to dwindle on what the Chat was mulling about. It hit too close to the bone after all of the assassination attempts. So instead he swam to the surface and dropped a single:

"Yes."

There was a strange tint in Phil's laugh. 

"Dude, you're paranoid."

Techno just huffed, starting to swim again to keep his blood from turning to ice. It looked like he was actually reaching the breaking point. 

"Of course I am, what's your point?"

"You want to up the security again?" Phil hummed thoughtfully. 

The hybrid huffed, diving again for a couple of moments. His headache clearly was getting worse but there were still a couple of minutes before the timer. 

"I dunno if there's even a point," he confessed, taking a few powerful strides to warm his arms. "Hubert's trying, man, but... I don't think there's even something _he_ can do at this point."

Frankly, it wasn't even a jab at the Head of the Royal Guard. They were simply in completely different leagues. If anything disastrous was to happen, severe enough to press the Emperor's own back against the wall... To be honest, in that hypothetical situation all bodyguards could do was to stall for a couple of moments. Give him a breather. And that was a generous estimation. 

For a hot second, Technoblade entertained the thought of being surpassed in every aspect by the one you're supposed to protect. Though, he had to throw it out of his skull once the process became too bleak. After all, being the Pig, the Blood God, the tip of the blade that cut through all of the enemies was the thing that got Techno his followers in the first place, and Hubert... well, once the suicidal melancholy left his mind, he quickly became one of them. 

But if there was a thing about another piglin hybrid that the Emperor dug out of the Hypixel's gladiator pits, it was his undying, unquestioning loyalty to his liberator. Hubert might not have been the sharpest tool in the shed when it came to academic science, but he had enough wit to secure his position as the head of Techno's personal guard, especially when he got Jack and Moon as his officers. The trio almost became inseparable lately. 

_Three little piglets!_

_More like a piglet and two nerds._

_A pig block and two pumpkin blocks._

_Can you make a golem out of it?_

_Are we the wolf?_

_Huff and puff and stab them!_

_Guys! They are our guards! Hello?!_

_Pumpkin-pig hybrid?_

_Gross! Do it!_

_Technoblade needs guards? L!_

_Massive L._

_I am massive, I am massive._

_I hate all of you._

_Don't you dare to touch Pigstep._

_We're gonna be DMCA'ed!_

_Who's singing with me!?!?!_

_MEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!_

At this point, mining water with a Fortune shovel just to make Chat go quiet for a hot second didn't seem like such a bad deal. 

"I'll give him a word anyway," Phil scratched his chin, and Techno snapped his dwindling attention to the man. "The guy mentioned he was a part of the team that secured a Bastion before he got into the Pits. Maybe he'll come up with something."

'All piglins help in the protection of their Bastion, it's in their blood. And Hubert's a brute, what else could he do?' Techno didn't say, licking his tusks instead. The absence of golden rings was painfully clear at that moment, but it wasn't a can of worms he had the mental capacity to open now. He missed the pacifying golden sound his jewelry made. Usually dull and easily dismissable, it was especially sharp upon mentioning Bastions and after having the ability to speak to another piglin.

Damn it, he was truly horrified when he realized his throat was barely fit to produce the sounds of his once-native language after years and years of using the one his once-captors spoke. The irony was strong in this one, as now he was the conqueror of men who once invaded his home dimension and ruined everything he once knew.

Technoblade snorted irritably and dove under the water, reaching the bottom of the pool where it was especially cold and unpleasant. The echoes of Chat died in the cold, fading into a buzzing, wordless static of conflicting emotions, momentarily desires, and boredom. 

Quiet was dangerous on itself, though. It was a vacuum, and in his mind, the vacuum couldn't exist. It was doomed to be filled with either sharp shambles of Chat, over-scrutinized scheming, or forbidden memories. 

Nope. No time for reminiscing, there were still a few minutes he had to endure in the water. 

Resurfacing almost felt warm even though the fog of his breath crystalized on the tips of his fur into grains of ice. 

"Make him grab Fool while you're at it," the hybrid snorted again, clearing his snout from the water that got in there. 

Philza laughed. 

"You don't like Moon, do you?"

The piglin swam in small circles, trying to keep his muscles operational. A tall order, really, at this point. 

"He's an annoying prick," he admitted bluntly. But after another minute of thinking, decided to add a clarification. "But he's useful. Hubert likes him. So whatever."

"You're still not over that assassination attempt?"

"I was giving a speech. He had all the time in the world to take aim. Moreover, he had the best vantage point anyone could ever ask for. And still missed!" Techno rolled his eyes. "Even if he didn't, he'd still shoot me in the shoulder. That's not a fatal wound."

_What a nerd._

_L._

_Young man, got defeated!_

_Should've stabbed him._

_You missed an ice block._

_We still can stab him._

_He's our employee!_

_We have lots of those._

_And not enough stabbing._

_Agreed._

_Phil did it for us._

_Should we stab Phil then?_

_Dadza pog!_

He vividly remembered the sparkles that the arrow caused, hitting the balustrade above his left shoulder. The shouting and the commotion that ensued. The sniper shot that Phil did, and the yelp that followed. 

It was funny, really, how quickly the skinny guy with palish eyes forgave Phil. Then again, a bit later on, when there was another attempt to harras the Port-aux-Francais, he saw first-hand how the Angel of Death shoots to kill and realized the full amount of mercy he received despite being tasked with assassinating Angel's closest friend. Philza just punctured his lung on the opposite side of the heart. It could've easily been a headshot. 

"You're the only Emperor I know who's constantly pissed that his would-be-killers are morons, mate," his Imperial Adviser laughed again, and the sound finally was light and chiming as it should've been. "Shouldn't you be happy that they fuck up constantly?"

"But the disrespect, Phil. The disrespect! Those idiots in crowns are too stingy," breath in. Breathe out. Move-move-move. Heck, it was cold. "To even hire... someone decent to... take me out!" he huffed as the human laughed, bent over. "Technoblade deserves... only the best! And assassins shouldn't... be the exception."

Philza was laughing so hard by now, he started hiccuping. Techno didn't manage to suppress a chortle in time and joined in. 

"Phil, are you okay out there?" he huffed again, smiling despite trying not to. "You were so concerned... with me stopping breathing but... it looks like you... have this problem, not me." 

It was easy to laugh with Phil. Dangerously so. Even if they were alone, even if Chat was lulled by the cold and the blood it received before, even if Philza being the de-jure co-ruler of the Empire was the common knowledge among their closer circle at this point... it was easier if others perceived them as an Emperor and his lackey, at least for the time being, before Techno had enough power and resources to openly state his friend's co-founder position. That way, Technoblade was the one who had the target painted on his back, he was the pinpoint of the hate and the rage that boiled in the idiots who surrounded their faction. And he was more than equipped to deal with that, while his 'servant' was mostly overlooked. 

It was genuinely funny how Philza was perceived as the calming presence to his bloodlust, a saint to his demonic, Nether-bred nature. Foolish people saw what they feared in a towering piglin hybrid in the heavy furs and even heavier armor, with sharpened tusks and hoves, with dead eyes of white sunken in the black shadows, every inch of him adorned in the glistening gold. They saw a greedy demon, a possessive boogieman, a murderous beast. Someone to hide their kids from, _something_ to hunt down, to see as a mindless violent monster - maybe even worse, since mindless creatures could be excused for their cruelty as they lacked consciousness to comprehend it. But he was conscious, and calculating, and could perceive the line between good and evil, blurry as it was. And in the eyes of those who weren't cunning enough to outwit him and play him for a fool, that was a mortal sin. 

Who in their sane mind would give a second glance to a seemingly-gracious blond man with a charming smile and a light laugh when he stood beside such a creature? Fools glossed over the whole Angel of Death nickname.

And they paid a heavy price for it, in the end.

Technoblade smirked, satisfied with what he managed to pull off despite lacking social graces. Commoners and kings alike needn't know how stab-happy Philza Minecraft actually was and that he was called _Killza_ by Chat not mistakingly. You had to have a special breed of chaos in you to be called out on your violent tendencies by a Blood God himself, after all.

"I know you're quite old. But don't die on me... don't you die on me, Phil," breath in. Breathe out. Cold. "I'm well-versed in... killing people, not in giving them... medical assistance!" 

He faux-whined theatrically, suppressing a cough that threatened to rise up his throat. Breathe in. Breathe out. His hooves were stinging. As per usual, he ignored that. 

Surprisingly, someone else didn't. 

_Techno the sellout timer!_

_Are you okay?_

_One of us! One of us!_

_Sellout! Cash grab! Boomer!_

_The sellout timer!_

_The bell!_

_Techno you okay?_

_One of us!_

_Techno, the bell!_

_Oneofus!oneofus!oneofus!_

Odd. The timer didn't ring, yet the Chat was stirring like crazy, and it usually did it only when the timer's louder than life ringing gave it a moss pole to coil around and become unanimous. 

Flapping his ears, Techno threw the thought out of his head and glanced at Phil again. He was still hiccup-laughing, which was sorta hilariously delightful. However, if the hybrid had any saying in it, anyone would have to pry that admission out of his cold dead hands. 

"And the cleric is like... in the opposite wing," he continued the teasing instead. "I'm... not going there by foot... in my shorts, old man."

The human laughed louder, waving him off:

"Fuck off, mate, I may be older, but I'm healthier than you."

"Fair," the piglin admitted without thinking before stumbling back on his words not to sound lame. "I-I mean, that... is probably true."

Undeniable success, in his eyes. 

That, for whatever reason, cut off his Imperial Adviser's laughter. Techno didn't notice at first, too busy with keeping himself from freezing, but his legs and hooves were burning from the cold to the point of disturbing pain. How long has he been in the pool? When was the darn thing going off? Did he forget to set it properly again? He did his best not to get distracted while setting it up but... 

"You're not even going to argue with me over that?"

"Is there a point?" the piglin huffed, ears twitching as he snapped out of his thoughts and back to the conversation. He thought he could barely feel the muscles of his ears but wasn't sure anymore. And he was actively denying that his lips were trembling constantly. "You're just... as stubborn as I am."

"Fair," the man chortled, tilting his head to the other side. "But I reserve the right of nagging you with an 'I told you' when I'll sit near you 'cause you got fever again, you stubborn pig."

'But you'll sit near me, you soft-hearted nerd,' Techno didn't say, snorting lightheartedly instead. 'Just as you did before. Just as you fought by my side when no one else would.'

He may have gone crazy... well... crazier than usual, but he was even willing to admit it out loud. There was a catch, though. It was disturbingly hard to speak in longer sentences as if he was constantly out of breath. He was huffing more than usual, too. Odd. The Boar of Hypixel thought he was more resilient than that. 

"I call dibs on trying," he forced out and had to take a breath before continuing, which was mildly alarming. "To get you to sleep." 

Phil groaned with exasperation that was only partially theatric.

"Are we doing this shit again?"

Technoblade tried to laugh but failed, breathless. 

"Oh, absolutely."

The man stood up, stretching, and walked to the edge of the pool.

"Ugh, fine. I'm gonna save myself lots of sleepless nights by preventing this right now," he yawned before making a gesture at the piglin. "Out."

"The timer hasn't... gone out yet," Techno argued, brow furrowing. His body was screaming at him, sure, but that was a constant of his being. That's why he had the timer! That's why he always had timers and notes and plans. He wasn't the most reliable narrator even in his own eyes. Besides, it was _efficient_. 

"That blasted thing rang while you were at the bottom of the pool, trying to get your gills growing," Phil frowned in response. "I turned it off."

"H-heh?"

"You were gonna abuse the bell again, mate," Phil shrugged, clearly not catching on to the gravity of the situation. "What was I supposed to do, just listen to that shit?"

Okay. Those were some bad news that could explain his shortness of breath and numbness. The timer was bordering on his survival limits already. If he surpassed those...

"Phil, I n-need you to," the hybrid started swimming to the pool's edge, mind racing despite the dullness in his body. Talking was so hard. His tongue barely obeyed him. As if to add salt to the injury, the muscles on his right leg cramped and refused to work properly. "I need... you to--"

There was probably something in the tone of his voice that made the man snap his full attention to him, collected and serious, already kneeling on the edge. From the looks of it, he was ready to jump into the water. Bad idea, really. He had his clothes on, and boots and the piglin was probably heavier anyway. 

"Techno?"

"Help me," the piglin forced out, teeth chattering too hard to speak properly. "Out of. Here."

In less than three heartbeats, Philza has already thrown him a rope. Was it a lead, perhaps? Why did he have a lead on him while they were alone? That thought stirred the voices from their cold grave and into a shouting match. 

_A lead? What a bitchslap._

_Well, this is embarrassing._

_Dadza crafted a belt fit for you._

_Wretched mongrels get the leash._

_Death before dishonor!_

Technoblade just gritted his teeth and grabbed the lifeline offered, trying to suppress the screeching in his throbbing head. No, didn't look like the lead anyway. More like the decorative wires that held all the banners on the walls. Phil probably ripped one out. With his bare hands. What a legend. 

_Oink for us, pig-boy!_

_You idiots he's dying!_

_Ice bucket challenge gone wrong._

_His heart is stopping, don't you see that?_

_We're gonna die!_

_L._

_What?_

_He what?_

_We're gonna die?_

_We what?_

_Swim! Swim! Don't give up!_

"Come on, Techno!" Philza grunted, pulling the piglin to the border of the pool, and then grabbed his hands and shoulders, trying to pull him out of the water. Considering that the hybrid was both taller and heavier, the effort was probably quite high on his part. Techno tried to assist as much as his condition would allow, yet he wasn't sure whether he was helping or hindering. "Fuck it, mate, you have to cut on those tacos!"

The piglin tried to laugh but all he managed was a breathless cough, as he finally managed to push himself over the pool's border and onto the smooth prismarine tiles. 

"But I, ugh... I love... tacos," he breathed out. His voice sounded so strange to his ears, so quiet and unnatural. 

"Dude, you're literally the fucking Emperor. There's like a whole line of professional chefs ready to cook you any whim and yet you insist on eating this shit," Phil continued to grumble, helping him to dry himself with a giant towel which could've been mistaken for a blanket because of its sheer size. The piglin shivered violently yet he couldn't help but chuckle.

"Ex-xactly," Techno tried to laugh despite the coughing but the attempt fell flat. He was so tired. So tired. Maybe he could sleep? Just a little bit. But Phil was there, and Phil roughed his fur up, and Phil was poking him constantly, demanding his attention. So he tried to say what he was thinking. For Phil. "I c-conquered... the continent so I... khhh! So I could... have all the... the tacos... I wanted."

"Imagine going to the culinary academy, spending years on perfecting your craft to have a chance to cook for the Emperor himself," his Advisor chuckled despite the seriousness of the situation, as he tried to rub some warmth in the hybrid. He was talking. Probably to keep him awake. Tacos weren't the worst topic, in all honesty. "Then you come to the fanciest castle built by man's hand, meet the Emperor himself, and he looks you fucking dead in the eye and in the most royal and official voice possible demands fucking tacos."

"I d-d... drink," why was talking so hard? He was out of the water. He should be warmer, yet for some reason, he wasn't. Or maybe he was, Technoblade wasn't sure anymore. He felt so weird. Not completely there. Floaty, somewhat. "I... the... the tears of... of my..."

The walls were purple and moving slightly as if he was still underwater. Which was weird. Everyone knew prismarine wasn't purple. Because it was pink! A lovely shade, too. 

_Pink prismarine? Wut?_

_Techno, hold on!_

_Okay. He's officially braindead._

_Well someone's hallucinating._

_I don't want to die!!_

_Technosupport!_

_Wake him up!_

He was so tired. Why couldn't he dose off? Why was the Chat freaking out so much? He just wanted to have some well-deserved sleep, and yet they wouldn't stop screaming in his head. You couldn't feel cold if you were asleep, right? He could just have a good shut-eye and wake up, good as new, and go conquer another measly continent in the name of tacos. 

Yeah... yeah, that actually sounded like a good idea. 

_Don't! Techno, don't!_

_Someone wake the pig!_

_He's dying!_

_Dadza! Do something!_

_Bring out the E!_

_Louder! LOUDER!!!_

_We can't let him fall asleep!_

_Technoblade never dies!_

_You can't die! Think of the brand!_

_Fuck the brand, think of our pig!!_

"Mate?" there was a voice, and it was nice, but sounded too concerned. Scared, almost. Someone pulled him up, and he tried to stand, he really did, but his right leg was barely operational. "Techno? Come on, mate, don't fall asleep, don't fall asleep on me! Do you hear me? Techno! Techno, wake up!"

The choir lept on the last demand, reverberating through his very being. The chant of thousands of voices, shards smashing themselves together until they could form an eminent whole even without an outside seed. Unanimous, unwavering, and unyielding in what they stood for.

_TECHNO WAKE UP!!!_

He knew there were... things to do. There were always, always things he had to do. Schemes, and plans, and conquests he could barely remember now. There was his opus magnum, his tour de force, his crowning achievement, still young and frail in its planning, but it was there, it was always there. Because there were always threads, and political backstabbing, and worries, and anxieties, and stress, and Chat's demands to top it all, as though everything else wasn't enough. 

All he asked was some sleep. 

_TECHNO WAKE UP!!!_

"Yes... I... why are... what..."

He just wanted to sleep. Was that too much to ask?

"Mate you can't sleep, you can't sleep now. You hear me? Techno, you can't sleep."

_TECHNO WAKE UP!!!_

Why?

If only he had enough strength to ask. His tusks felt naked and his tongue felt stiff as a plank. 

"Techno, listen to me," the same voice pleaded, both determined and exasperated. "You can't. Please mate. Don't."

_TECHNO WAKE UP!!!_

The hybrid's ears twitched pathetically. They were too frozen to move. And even if they weren't, that would do nothing to mute the chant. 

"S-stop... screaming at..."

Where was he dragged to? Did it matter, really?

"I should've-- that fucking timer, I should've known, you always put all those timers," that different voice growled, exasperated. But then it turned somewhat softer, caring. "Techno, don't fall asleep, don't fall asleep yet! We're almost there."

Why wouldn't all of the voices just let him have some rest? The piglin shook his heavy head. He was floaty. His head was so heavy. Just as his limbs. Maybe heavier. 

"Techno? Tech! You hear me? Wake up!"

_TECHNO WAKE UP!!!_

He wondered if he could take it off and put it on the floor. Would he feel lighter? Would he soar?

_TECHNO WAKE UP!!!_

The water splashed in his ears. A lulling, comforting sound - which was almost completely lost under the onslaught of voices. 

_TECHNO WAKE UP!!!_

There were footsteps, squandered in all the splashing, and growling. Similar, but different. Lower. Did it sound less stressed and more... hungry? Was he imagining things?

_TECHNO WAKE UP!!!_

Something grabbed him by the long-suffering right leg, and Technoblade instinctively lept to the side, his body suddenly fully operational, and warm, and almost too _alive_. The water splashed around him, tepid and stinking of algae. Sand stuck to his fur, making him wonder absentmindedly should he kill the castle staff for such negligence or not, and would Phil try to scold him or give him a countdown for the hunt to be more interesting. It was always so hard to find good butlers... 

He blinked, still confused by his surroundings, as he tried to regain his footing, but his hooves slid on something. Those weren't tiles. Even prismarine wasn't that slippery. And if anything, it wasn't supposed to be soft under his feet. 

Why was it so dark? Where were all the sea lanterns? Philza loved those.

_TECHNO WAKE UP!!!_

Something moved beside him, and without thinking, Technoblade lunged on the target and ripped its throat out. 

There was a splash. There was a poof. The hybrid blinked heavily, eyesight adjusting to the darkness, and stared absentmindedly on a piece of rotten flesh in his fingers, hooves darkened by the stale blood. 

A... zombie? 

Why there was a zombie in the Port-aux-Francais...?

Why was there clay under his hooves? Who took the tiles away? Like, if anyone was stupid enough to rob the heart of the Empire, why would they steal the bloody pool tiles? Not the arms, not the armor, not the riches but some building blocks, and not even the most expensive ones? What was the rhyme or reason behind that? 

As if sensing his confusion, the Chat's united song shattered into myriad rivulets, flowing and brawling and sizzling against each other like it usually was. 

_Well someone's still in denial._

_Oh please, like he isn't usually._

_Daddy issues._

_At least he woke up. POG!_

_Epic Chat clutch!_

_Ugh, my vocal cords. They're ruined._

_We don't even have those._

_Techno wake up!_

_Pfff, someone's lagging._

_Imagine being eaten by a zombie._

_Couldn't be us._

_Technoblade never dies._

_Until he does._

_To a fucking zombie!_

_L._

_We're plot-relevant! YAY!_

What...?

_Behind you!_

_Behind!_

_Look out!_

_Back!_

_BEHIND!_

_[Rattle. Creaking of wood. Soft rustle. Feathers? Swoosh. Arrow!]_

His body moved out of the way without any coherent thought, and the piglin stared for a moment as an arrow swooped by. He didn't waste time to comprehend the meaning behind it as he rushed back, ramming the skeleton stupid enough to attack him and tearing the rattling thing down till it stopped moving. 

Only after that Techno finally took a moment to let all of his surroundings sink in. 

_[Hissing. Creaper? Spiders. Wood creaking. Rattle? Too far, not a thread. No armor. Blast can be fatal. Track for hissing.]_

A bank of the river on an oak forest's edge, trees having a silvery tint from the moonlight. Water splashed quietly as squids swam by, their comically-large bodies tangling in the seagrass. His axe and trident, laying neatly at an arm's reach near the place from which he lept. 

A glimpse of color caught his eye, and the hybrid turned to it. 

And stared. 

Hard. 

_Can we point and laugh now?_

_Guys come on, he's still confused._

_Then we should point and laugh._

_Technosupport gets yeeted!_

_EEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!_

_Pink clutch!_

_What a massive L._

_Awww, it has lil piggies on it!_

_Our reputation._

_F our reputation._

_At least only mobs saw that._

_Techno, will this be the next merch?_

_POG!_

_Leave him be._

_He's still in his daddy issues._

_Yeah. And only in those._

_Awkward._

_This is why we can't have good things, guys!_

His pink underwear was swinging gently in the moonlight from the nearest branches, drying after the washing. To be fair, his royal gown and cloak and shirt and all other clothes were too, painstakingly washed and lovingly hanged out so it wouldn't get crumpled, but the underwear just... stood out. You know?

"We don't talk about this, Chat," Techno growled as he marched to his clothes with as much dignity as he could. Expectingly, instead of dropping the subject, Chat cheered, and laughed and cackled. 

He could remember now. The spider blood, and how hard it was to get it out of his fur, and his clothes, and how he had no desire to be caught up by any of pogtopians. How he spent hours trying (and mostly succeeding) to save his ruffled shirt. How his exhaustion caught up to him, finally, and he decided that there was no harm in watching the sunset for a couple of minutes while he soaked in the water. 

How he chuckled about having the largest pool in the world, and the water line system to match it, and it not being enough for him at the time, and now being content with having a bath in a river in some godforsaken nowhere. How he got lost in the memories of Port-aux-Francais and the man who helped to build it. 

The piglin grumbled at Chat distractedly, thinking about the memory he slipped into. About many, many more memories he shared with his former Imperial Advisor. It helped him to tune off the mocking of the voices who still couldn't get it that colors didn't have gender and pink wasn't 'girlish'. Ugh. Then again, Chat being cringe was as normal as Philza being chaotic. 

Only Phil could be so wholesome while being the embodiment of dichotomy - to be simultaneously chill enough to be Dadza and cold enough to be Killza. Both the same side of the same man, as disastrous as he was wonderful. 

Too bad that man wasn't around his best friend now. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ...sorry for the "it was all a dream" trope? =D  
> Have some pink undies with piglets, calm yourself.  
> Writing Phil-Techno interactions is such a delight, I can't even express it properly. And yeah, the chapter includes a lot of my thoughts on fandom!Philza and his distinct difference from canon!Philza. My depiction will be leaning on the latter for the most part, even though I'm all for the found family tropes and good father Phil interpretations. But we have a character study here, so...  
> I hope the timeline of the chapter is clear, but just to be sure and clarify, the last part of the chapter takes place in "the short and struggling days of Pogtopia", and is set practically right after the Words, as Techno was washing his clothes from all of the ichor of the spiders he slaughtered in the second chapter.  
> Hope you're enjoying the ride so far and got the references!  
> And last but not least...  
> Subscribe to Technoblade.


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